


Sons of the Saints

by tawg



Category: DCU
Genre: Elseworlds, Gen, Recruitment, fight, legacy
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2009-11-20
Updated: 2009-11-20
Packaged: 2017-10-03 10:33:11
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,534
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17071
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/tawg/pseuds/tawg
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>The world changes, and the heroes need to change with it.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Sons of the Saints

**Author's Note:**

> A prequel to the 'Son of Superman' Elseworlds.

You get used to people dying in this job. Sometimes it's an accident. Sometimes they're innocent. Sometimes they're the people you work beside. And that hurts. But usually they come back.

Hell, the Flashes just keep coming back, and Green Arrow had more than a few encores before the curtain fell for good. Superman's died something like five times.

Superman showed me that although the dying hurts, it's when they plain don't come back that it eats away at you.

K flooding the market, the economy changing, the government. Someone finally clicked that not just any idiot should be running around in tights. We got registered. We got regulated. A hell of a lot of us got the official pink slip. J'onn told us to go with it, so we did.

Maybe two years after Superman didn't come back, we were culled right back. Five years and those of us without secret identities were on a healthy salary. Seven years and we got the government uniforms. Not all of us. Some weren't needed, the JLA could cover it all. And there were a few suits with no one to fill them. The 's' shield, a lightning bolt.

Super strength, world's greatest detective, ultimate lie-detector, a hydrophilic, and the best tool box imaginable. No speedster. So J'onn went out recruiting, and dragged me along for the ride.

 

Barry Allen has been gone for a long time, and Wally left the physical plane back when we were trying to pick up Superman's slack. The rest had all been classed as unsuitable, early retirement. Word is, Jesse Quick didn't even notice, and Jay was kinda out of the game anyway. Which left just one kid.

I thought he was all kinds of dead when I first saw him, body all rigid and sparks flying off him. "He's communicating with the Speed force," J'onn told me.

"I can sit up and beg too," Bart said. "You guys are late."

One of the initiatives behind the government employ of the Justice League was to wipe out the idea of legacies, tradition and such. Which was a nice idea, but I hated Wally when I first met him, and I held no fondness for Bart. He was barely twenty, being roped into an adult's game. The last time I'd seen him was when Superboy hit the dirt. He was a kid then, and I couldn't see how things had changed.

 

There's something that tastes bitter about people who can walk into a room like they own it. Maybe that's why I never really clicked with Diana. Bart strolls ahead of J'onn and I, cool as you please, sliding into the lightning bolt logo chair, thudding his large feet on the table.  
"Hey Bats," he says, all bright and cheerful. His voice is deeper - he talks like Wally but sounds someone else. Maybe Jay.

Maybe Barry.

Regardless, he doesn't flinch under Batman's glare. There's always been something off between those two. Batman has this thing about recruiting sidekicks - like a junkie who preaches being clean to everyone else. Bart pushes his sleeves up to his elbows, exposing pale skinny arms.

"Are there any papers I need to fingerprint, or are you doing it the traditional way - with a quill and some blood?" He cracks a grin, and it's a little wry, and little dark.

Our ocean representative lays a hand on his shoulder, and leans down close. "You gotta prove you're worth the paperwork first, Kid."

The furrow between Bart's eyebrows is bitter, and probably matches mine when Garth nods at me and says, "Hey freshie, you get babysitting duty."

"Great," I mutter.

"Put him through the training bullshit."

"And the standard combat modes," Batman adds, without looking up.

I suspect the two of us are being punished, and I want to point out that it's not my fault he's a kid. But I don't, because I'm not that stupid.

 

I tug at the hem of my training tee, barefoot in track pants. "How fast are you running these days?"

"I dunno, I don't run."

I raise an eyebrow behind the still-new fabric mask, and run the ring over him as he goes through the set warm ups, and agility tests. We square off against each other, and I make an effort to keep my feet on the ground, let him make the first move.

"So what is this, best man wins?"

Yeah, I think. But out loud I say, "There's no winning, just show me what you've got."

He grins, and runs at me. I erect a force field, which he amuses himself trying to break through. Eventually he phases through the floor, and comes back up by grabbing my ankle. I'd forgotten he could do that. We trade blows, he's either the slowest speedster in the cosmos, or he's taking his time, working me out.

He gets a good punch to my jaw, sending me reeling. I make a glove with the ring, and flatten him. He sits up, wiping some spit and blood from his lip as it heals. Heroism is a full contact sport. We start circling.

"Do you reckon the other members are watching?"

"I don't need to 'reckon'. Batman and Wonder Woman will be, maybe Garth."

He takes a running swipe at me, which I dodge. "This is like a total rip-off of that Space Trek 2020 episode."

"We got their set guys to build the whole embassy." He laughs, and takes another swipe at me. I block it, and the he kicks my feets from under me. The ring keeps me upright, just. We're in close now, trading kicks and punches, and he's got this crazy grin on his face like he's itching to sink his physical teeth into me. Which I kinda get.

Giving up this job, it's like having twenty-twenty vision and then walking around blindfolded: you always know what you're missing out on, you always know how easy it would be to go back.

He throws himself at me, and while he misses my torso, he grabs a boot on his way down and phases it off. He waggles it at me, taunting. I use my ring to give him a noogie, and grab my boot back. While I'm putting it on, he gets a boot to the jaw. Playful. Deadly serious.

We're sweaty, and bruised, and a little bit bloody. And I kinda want to just laugh and grin and play up. I get him in an arm lock, but the kid can bend his body in ways that just shouldn't happen. In under a second, I'm tripped up, pinned down, and Bart's off free.

He twists my ring arm behind my back, and claps a palm over my hand. I could project right through his hand if I wanted to, but I don't. His claves are warm against my ribs, and his heels press against the tops of my hips.

"You're getting old, G.L." he tells me.

"It's better than dying young. And call me Kyle."

I can't see it, but I can feel his grin washing over the back of my head.

 

"You're not going to ask if you're in?" Garth asks as Bart saunters back into the meeting room.

Bart grabs an apple from the mantle, and bites into it. "I've been 'in' since before you came recruiting," he says with his mouth half-full, "it's just taken you a long time to realise it."

Wonder Woman eyes him like he's something to be shipped off to the far reaches of the earth. She throws a uniform at him. "Go suit up. Playtime's over."

I watch him out of the corner of my eye as we suit up. And once he has the bottom half on I stare quite blatantly. It doesn't fit him as well as it could. It wasn't designed for him.

"Have I got food on my face or something?"

I start, and smile. "No. You sprinters always had this habit of looking like you shopped at the one store." He cracks a small grin that lights his face up, easy as anything, and I'm tempted to just keep my mouth shut, but I don't. "I know it's hard putting on someone else's suit, all the crap that goes with it. I'm just trying to imagine Wally in that getup."

His smile doesn't falter, but it fades with an adult fluidity. "Wally never would have worn it. Government sponsored superheroes? Nine-til-five? Pfft. Wally would have done what Barry would have done," he says as he pulls the black fabric mask across his eyes. He turns to me, and those large yellow irises are still throwing me off. No lenses this time, we're honest. "He would have been loyal to his beliefs until he got hauled in and locked away."

My mouth goes dry, like I've swallowed dust, and I suddenly don't want him to know that, want to keep him safe. I speak carefully, like treading on glass. "Just as well you're not Wally then."

His smile looks like it tastes bitter, like it doesn't fit on that pretty mouth. It's more like a frown as he adjusts the gloves. "It's a different world."


End file.
